


Summertime

by queeniegalore



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Blowjobs, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Porn as Plot, Porn with Feelings, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: There was a woman singing to him about summertime and the cave was dark and cold and Jason’s steps had paused because Jason hadn’t expected him to be there. Drinking whiskey and listening to the blues.Jason visits Bruce in the cave. It goes about as well as expected.





	Summertime

1.

 

There was a certain time, of night, or early morning, some time between four and five am, when the cave was quiet.

Bruce had a bottle of very good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, and a very thick, heavy crystal tumbler. Bruce drank it neat, and the chill of the cave kept it cold enough that it went down smooth, so smooth, and sometimes, when the cave was silent and even the bats were asleep and Alfred was in bed and there was nothing but the thoughts in Bruce’s head for company, he opened the draw and took the whiskey out and poured himself a glass.

 

The speakers were hidden, expensive and Joplin’s voice seemed to scratch over his skin like worn crushed velvet. He was on his second glass, and he knew the sun was about to rise outside but there was nothing he needed to do and nowhere he needed to be. He’d reached the point of tired where he couldn’t even bring himself to stumble to bed. He wanted out of the suit but the effort of undressing seemed, suddenly, insurmountable. There was a woman singing to him about summertime and the cave was dark and cold and Jason’s steps had paused because Jason hadn’t expected him to be there. Drinking whiskey and listening to the blues.

“You can come down.”

Bruce had never known anyone to tread so lightly in armoured combat boots.

“Two glass night, old man?”

Bruce tilted his head, kept his eyes closed. “Maybe three.”

Soft huff of breath that meant Jason was amused, maybe despite himself. “You’re too old for hangovers, B. Crime’s not going to hold your hair back for you.”

And Bruce smiled, wryly, because he’d said that once to a sixteen year old Jason, puking off the side of a building because Bruce had made him go out after a night of fairly typical teen rebellion with an older girl named Katie who had the keys to her parents liquor cabinet. Bruce standing by merciless while Jason struggled through the easiest, safest patrol Bruce had ever taken him on, pausing to be sick every other building, never once complaining, face a picture of stoic, wounded misery.

Alfred had almost kicked Bruce out of his own house for that one, but Jason had never held a grudge, and he’d never gotten drunk on a work night again, either. Not in _that_ life, anyway.

“If I still got a hangover after a few glasses of Glenfiddich Alfred probably wouldn’t be so worried about me.”

He sighed at Jason’s snort, and finally opened his eyes. Jay was standing back, almost all the way back into the shadows, and he had his helmet dangling from one hand, his hair a mess and falling into his eyes. He looked warm, for the split second before he registered Bruce staring and shuttered himself away. Bruce sighed again.

“You’re not normally here when I am.

Jason lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I normally have pretty good timing. Alfie been ratting me out?”

Bruce’s lip twitched. Tim had tried to call Alfred ‘Alfie’ once. He’d never tried it again. Jason had always gotten away with so much more than the rest of the boys, and not just with the butler.

“He would never,”  Bruce promised solemnly. “I do check the tapes you know.”

A barely there flicker of Jason’s eyes to one of the security cameras hidden away in this part of the cave. They all knew they were there, and they all pretended that they didn’t know Bruce checked them occasionally, like babies who think that if they can’t see you, you can’t see them.

Bruce had accidentally seen three separate teenage boys jerking off in the Car, had seen prototype weaponry spirited away never to be seen again, had seen hidden case files hacked into and copied, and had seen the Computer used to watch a solid three hours of a live birdhouse stream.

He’d seen Jason sneaking in and standing in front of his own memorial, hand against the glass, tears streaking down his face. He’d seen Jason take a sample of kryptonite, almost trembling with guilt and uncertainty. He’d seen Jason gently, gently stroke Bruce’s chair, his desk, an old cowl. He’d seen Jason open that bottom drawer and slowly unscrew the cap on Bruce’s bottle of whiskey and just breathe it in deep, eyes closed and mouth wet.

Of course he checked the tapes. How could he give that up?

“And yet you’ve never stopped me.”

Bruce closed his eyes again. Janis was still singing to him, low and mournful, and there was something almost magical about the hour, like there always was.

He wondered what Jason saw. A battle scarred old man with messy hair, armoured to the neck, drinking alone and listening to music that had gone out of fashion before he was born. A fool.

“You were all my Robins for a reason, and you all deserve my trust,” he said softly. “If I didn’t give you that, there’d be no point in any of it.”

Jason came a little closer, approaching the desk cautiously, like one of them was a wild animal that could be spooked away. Bruce didn’t know which one of them. Both. He wanted so desperately to be beyond all that.

“You trust me?

“Jay.” Bruce took a sip, licked the liquid smoke taste of it off his lips. “Jason, of course I do.”

“You trust me with _kryptonite_?”

And Bruce had to laugh, because really. “You took a minuscule amount. One bullet. And you didn’t even use it.” He looked Jason in the eyes. “I trust you, Jason.”

To anyone else, Jason’s face might have been cold, unreadable.

Bruce knew him too well. Like maybe no one else ever would, and what did that make him?

“Why?"

Cold, sure, dismissive. Almost a sneer on those hard, beautiful lips.

God, he was so beautiful, and Bruce wanted to run and hide.

“Because you’re my Robin,” Bruce said, softly. His voice was hoarse with the whiskey and the cold night air. “And you’ll always be my Robin.”

Jason nodded, hung his head for a moment, a dark sweep of hair obscuring his face. “And that’s why I’ll never be anything else.”

Bruce always expected it, always dreaded and braced for it, but every time, every single time, it blindsided him, came out of nowhere and smacked him in the face. Jason, and his need for Bruce, and the way he wanted Bruce, would never be anything but a shock. Even though...

Six times.

They had exactly kissed six times. Once before Jason had died, and five time since he came back, and Bruce could remember each one in forensic detail.

Six kisses, and all of them had been started by Jason, and all of them had been ended by Bruce.

Six kisses, and each of them - every single one, but especially the first - lay like a wound on Bruce’s heart.

Six kisses, and even after everything, he wouldn’t give a single one of them up for the world.

“Jay…”

“Sometimes it seems like all you can say to me is my name, like that’s supposed to mean something.” Jason’s smile was bitter. “And I shouldn’t even be here, so I’m going to go home.”

“No.”

He reached out to grab Jason’s wrist, and Jason was close enough that Bruce’s fingertips brushed skin before he snatched his arm away.

“Why would I stay,” Jason asked, face a mask that didn’t disguise the hurt. “Just to get shot down? Again?"

 

Bruce saw his face at sixteen, bruised and battered, skin around his eyes red because the new glue he’d tried for the domino was irritating him. Pink lips chapped from the cold air and shiny because he kept licking them. Limbs too long, sleekly muscled, scrapes on his knees and elbows, a deep blue bruise high up on his already thick thigh. Hair a wind-swept tangle, and he was due to get it cut but he’d been putting it off, had made tentative noises about growing it out like Dickie. Bruce had said as long as he didn’t get a mullet he could do what he liked, and they’d laughed, open and relaxed like they so rarely were.

He saw Jason in shorts and a tank as he trudged ahead of him up the stairs, yawning and stretching and still jittery with leftover energy. Saw Jason smiling up at him and biting his lip in front of Bruce’s bedroom door, stepping forward when Bruce hesitated. Saw the terror and determination in those big blue eyes. Saw the hope.

The first kiss. In a darkened hallway, Jason up on his toes with his fists balled in Bruce’s shirt, messy and soft and impossibly sweet. Bruce had let it go on a beat too long to be able to ever claim he didn’t want it, and when he stepped away he saw the flash of triumph in Jason’s eyes.

“No,” Bruce had whispered, his voice rough, splintered. “Jason, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want you, old man,” Jason whispered back. “And that you want me.” Cocky, cocky as always, brash and bold and everything Bruce _loved_ about him.

He stepped away. “No.” Opened his bedroom door. “I can’t - I don’t want-”

“It’s okay.” Jason had smiled at him, shaky. “Tell yourself what you need to, old man. You kissed back. You’ll do it again.” And he’d _winked_ , and Bruce had shut the door in his face, and a week later, he was dead.

 

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said now, slowly. “Why you keep trying.”

He knew the words were wrong the instant they left his mouth. Jason’s eyes narrowed, head tilting, and Bruce could see him forming the fist that was about to smash through his jaw, and fuck, he’d deserve it.

“Wow,” Jason said. “Well fuck you _too_ , B.”

“I meant,” Bruce cut in, a little desperate, because he couldn’t lose Jason again over something as stupid as this. “I meant why. Why would you _want_ to keep trying.” He stood up, gestured at himself. “You should have grown out of me, Jason. You grew up, I got old.” He sighed, so tired it hurt, felt every ache in every muscle, and the weight of Jason’s disdain was like a fresh bruise. He laughed a little, bitterly. “I used to think _maybe_ , when you weren’t so young. But...the older I get the younger you seem.” Jason’s face was like stone, eyes cast down. Bruce wanted to touch it, the shadows under his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones. He almost reached out, but couldn’t bear the thought of Jason moving away from him again.

“I’m an old, broken man clinging desperately to an old, broken city, and you de-”

“Don’t,” Jason cut n, voice like a whip. “Don’t you dare tell me I deserve better. I deserve to get what I want for _once in my life_.” He looked up, frustrated, eyes stormy. “Every time I kissed you I thought it might be the time I break through to you, and every time you pushed me away I though you just needed more time, but B, I’m done giving you more chances. I’m done giving you more time. Just say it. Say I’m a fucking idiot, say it’ll never happen, say I’ve been wasting my time since I was _sixteen_ , since I was _dead_. Say it so I can fucking give up!”

Bruce slumped back down into his chair, hands out helplessly. The sense memory of every single time Jason’s lips had met his was making his mouth tingle. He wanted it again. He wanted more.

Maybe the only thing more surprising than how much Jason wanted him was how desperately he wanted Jason back.

“If you knew,” he said, low, the whiskey just strong enough to push the words out into the air between them. “If you had the first clue how badly I wish I could.”

“Jesus Christ, Bruce, you can’t even give me _closure_.” Jason shook his head. “You’re such a fucking mess under all that armour, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Bruce said, eyes on Jason’s drawn, tired face. He didn’t look angry anymore, really. Just...weary. “I think the armour is the only thing holding me together.”

And Jason actually smiled, just a little, at that. “You see, that’s so fucking depressing. This is why I avoid you, you know. You depress the fuck out of me.” He cocked his hip against the edge of the desk, looking down at Bruce and sighing. “How did we get this fucked up, B?”

Bruce lifted his drink to his lips, finished off the last mouthful. Very aware of Jason’s eyes on him, watching closely the movement of his lips, his throat.

“Did you ever really expect us to be anything different?”

“Expect? No. Hope, maybe.” Jason’s hand reached out, and Bruce stilled, let gloved fingers touch his cheek, stroke down across his jaw. “Tell me how to stop hoping, Bruce.”

“I’ve got no fucking idea, Jay. If you figure it out, let me know.”

Jason’s eyes were reproachful, and Bruce knew how unfair he was being, knew that he wasn’t quite in his right mind, too close to tipping into temptation, tipping into something he’d never let himself have. The whiskey, and the music, and the morning air…

“ _God…_ ”

Bruce, despite everything, was still quicker than Jason.

He had him by the wrist in between one breath and the next, yanked him down on a sharp inhale, and Jason melted, six foot something of muscle and leather sprawled over him, knees pressed to the outside of Bruce’s thighs, his free hand gripping the back of Bruce’s chair for balance, mouth open and finally _soft_ , gasping against Bruce’s cheek.

“Don’t,” Jason said softly, lips rasping against Bruce’s stubble, but he was meeting the kiss, like Bruce knew he would. Hungry, opening to Bruce and letting him _in_ and Bruce almost wanted to cry at the vulnerability.

_Don’t let me do this_ , he thought, ignoring himself and tangling a fist in Jason’s hair. _Don’t let me take this._

Jason was fire above him, hot to touch and burning Bruce from the inside. Mouth wet and tasting like the night sky, and Bruce knew Jason was tasting whiskey on his own tongue, and the music was still playing low and sweet around them and Bruce could just give in, right now. Just give up and give them both exactly what they wanted.

The kiss lasted a lifetime.

Bruce left bruises on Jason’s wrists before he let go, let Jason press shaking hands to Bruce’s cheeks and hold him still, work his mouth slow and sweet and smoother than the whiskey. And Bruce had had this before, had tasted that mouth, felt the weight of Jason's body against his, but every time felt like the first, and never _ever_ had it been like this. Jason was _intent_ , in a way Bruce had never felt before, confident, deliberate, as he reduced Bruce to dust.

It ended, like it always did. And Bruce's hated himself, like he always would, staring up at Jason’s flushed face as he slowly pulled away.

Jason’s cheeks were red, lips glistening. He stared back at Bruce carefully, heavy lidded eyes blinking slowly. His face wasn’t closed off yet, but Bruce knew that as soon as he said the wrong thing that would change.

He was going to say the wrong thing.

“You already know all the reasons.” His voice was a whisper. “You already know why we can’t.”

Jason nodded. He looked thoughtful, calculating. Bruce had been expecting, at the least, _fury_.

“You need more time, old man?” He slid a finger down Bruce's chin, and Bruce knew he was looking at the grey in his stubble, the evidence of all the years between them.

“Jason.”

“I’ll give you.” Jason slid off Bruce’s lap, and made a show of checking his watch. “Five minutes.”

Bruce blinked at him, stupidly. “Five minutes,” he repeated, blank, and Jason.

Jason _winked_.

“Clock’s ticking, Bruce. Do you think, after all this time, you could see about getting your fucking head on straight?”

The mumbled _language_ was automatic. Bruce’s lips and the tips of his fingers were still tingling, and he sat sprawled like he’d been hit with knock-gas as he watched Jason walk away from him.

Again.

And it was ridiculous, because there were very few things in life that Bruce actually wanted, and even fewer that he could actually have, and then, when one of those precious, impossible things was served up to him on a platter, he turned it away.

Jason didn’t even look back, and then he was gone.

 

The music was still playing.

Low, and not-so-sweet, now, something a little fast, a little fiercer. Bruce’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he blinked again, trying to clear the cobwebs. He felt like he’d been in a dream, and if he couldn't still taste Jason on his lips he might have been happy to _go_ with that.

Unfortunately Bruce was a realist. He swiped a thumb across his lips, just once, let himself savour the lingering press of Jason’s against his, and then hit the button to cut the music, turning Janis off mid growl.

He left the glass out for Alfred to deal with as he headed to the showers. At least there was one vice he didn’t need to bother hiding.

 

2.

 

The night-morning air was cool, but he stumbled up to his room in nothing but his towel, left the lights on and made his way by memory alone. He could walk this in his sleep, and probably had, honestly, the familiar floors under his feet guiding him without requiring any conscious effort on his part.

Sleep was singing to him, just a few hours, even though he probably needed a few days. Sleep, and the promise of a reprieve, however temporary, from the memory of Jason walking away from him, yet again.

He dropped the towel once his bedroom door was shut behind him, still not bothering with lights, and was halfway across the room to his bed when he realised it wasn’t empty.

A flash of panic washed over him and had evaporated before it was even fully formed, still set his blood rushing and roaring in his ears. He was left standing, heart racing, naked and as vulnerable as he ever got, staring through the thick shadows of his room at Jason Todd snuggled in his bed like he had never belonged anywhere else.

“That was closer to twenty minutes, B,” Jason murmured. "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood."

Bruce swallowed. He was rooted to the spot, and he realised, with an almost clinical fascination, that he was shaking like a leaf.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

He could barely see Jason through the dark of the room, the black of his hair against the pillows, the bulk of him under the sheets. But he could see him move, stretch as luxurious as a cat.

"Well you wouldn't take advantage of me," he said slowly, voice thick and sweet as honey. "So I'm taking advantage of you."

"Jay-"

"Shut up, Bruce. For once in your fucking life, shut up and take what's on offer."

Still sweet. But there was steel under there as well, and the sharp edges of a fraying patience. This might be it, Bruce thought, and took a step forward despite himself. His last chance. He could gather his towel up and walk away, lock himself in the cave and then...then maybe he and Jason would exchange polite greetings out in the field on occasion, and Jason's eyes would slide away and he would never, ever know the taste of him again.

"Everything that I am," Bruce said slowly, taking another step. "Everything I fight for, everything I believe in...tells me not to do this."

Always the wrong words, when it came to this, and Bruce was cringing as soon as they came out of his mouth.

But he and Jason always had been too forgiving when it came to each other.

 

"I get that it freaked you out," Jason said, seriously. "When I was, you know, Robin. When I was a teenager. I get that you couldn't then, even though I was so fucking in love with you I thought the world was ending." That bitter laugh was back. "And then the world did end, for me, and I realised that you wanting me wasn't the most important thing in life."

Bruce took another step, and Jason shifted again, sliding under the sheets.

"But I grew up, B." The words were simple, a bare statement of fact, and something about them was slicing Bruce to the bone. "I'm not sixteen anymore. You're not my father, and you never were, and let's be honest, I never thought of you that way. You didn't either. I'm not Dick, and I'm not Timmy. Our thing was different from the start. We've always been different."

He sat up, letting the sheets pool in his lap. He was as naked as Bruce, and god, Bruce, under it all, was only human.

The air was cold, but Jason looked so warm.

"You know," Bruce paused, licked his lips. "I did want you. This. I’ve wanted you for so _long_."

"I know," Jason agreed. "But Bruce, you gotta give me something here. I've been-"

"So patient," Bruce finished for him, and then he was there, at the side of the bed, looking down at the boy who was his Robin, his partner. The boy who was a _man_ now, who had been _waiting_. "Jay, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, old man. Just give me what I want and we’ll call it even, okay?"

Bruce's thighs hit the bed. He could just make out Jason's face, now, open and fierce. His thick brows, the mess of black falling into his eyes

"Tell me how to have this," Bruce said softly. Jason's hand was sneaking out of the covers, the backs of his knuckles brushing the skin of Bruce's thighs. "Christ, _Jason_."

"I lied before," Jason said quietly, sweeping his hand up to Bruce's waist.It wasn't the first time Jason had seen him naked, but it was the first time for everything else, and Bruce was still shaking, overwhelmed, brimming with hope he’d never let himself dare to have.

"What did you lie about?"

"I _love_ it when you say my name. I dream of it, you know? All the different ways you say my name."

Bruce couldn't stop his smile. " _All_ the different ways?"

Jason's thumb traced along the dip of Bruce's hip. Bruce made himself hold very still. He was getting hard. Jason was naked and inviting in his bed, and god, he was only human.

"Even when you're mad at me,” Jason went on, voice amused. “it's still something. It's still attention." Jason's laugh wasn’t bitter anymore. "Middle child syndrome, I guess."

Bruce closed his eyes. It wouldn't be Jason if it wasn't like this. He supposed. "Jesus, Jay."

"Yeah, I know, ix-nay on the kid stuff, right? So I guess calling you 'daddy' is off the cards-"

Bruce fell into bed, caged Jason in his arms, dipped his head and _kissed_ him, and only part of him believed that it was to shut him up.

Jason laughed into it, _giggled_ almost, and Bruce wanted to cry because it was so _simple_. He'd thought - god, he'd really thought that maybe there could be nothing but pain for them. Even this, when he'd imagined it, had been fraught and tense and brutal. He hadn't realised it could be _this_ , Jason laughing in his arms, Jason's smart mouth set to tease, not wound. Jason's arms opening and pulling him down, pulling him so close and so warm, chasing away the chill of the cave that always seemed to follow him around.

"Janis Joplin is for old people," Jason whispered against his lips, laughing again when Bruce growled.

"I'm an old people," Bruce muttered, and tried not to let the ache of that taint what they were building. "Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Mmm, you're not that old." The sheet was still between them, but it did nothing to hide Jason's body, the bulk and heft of it. Nothing to hide the hardness of his cock. "You'll do fine."

Bruce groaned. He couldn't tear his mouth away from Jason's, wanted to drown himself in that kiss. Six times in all the years they'd known each other, stolen and rushed and aborted. Stored away like gold coins, and suddenly it was like he was swimming in riches. Jason tasted like Bruce’s toothpaste, oddly enough, and under that, a hint of chocolate, dark and sweet.

So fucking _sweet_.

There was a part of Bruce’s mind, the part that was Batman all the time, the part that could never really be turned off, that watched almost clinically as he lost himself, then. As he let himself be rolled onto his back, the sheet tangled and then ripped away impatiently by Jason’s rough hands, callused now, rough from his gun and oh yes, Batman catalogued that, filed that away even as he gasped lowly at the feel of that roughness sweeping down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach.

“Close your eyes,” Jason was saying to him, in a voice that matched his hands, rough and hoarse and maybe a little desperate. “God, do you ever turn off? Come on, B, Bruce, _give_ it to me -”

“You know me,” Bruce said, almost apologetic, catching Jason’s face and pulling it back up, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, the strength of his neck. “You know what you get if you get me, you _know_.”

Jason laughed, and he wrenched away, and Bruce’s stomach dropped until he realised Jason wasn’t going anywhere, just sliding down, down, and _oh-_

“Is this me _getting_ you, B?” he asked, and the pale light was sneaking through the curtains just enough to line his face, paint shadows into the deep dimples in his cheeks as he smirked. His lips were wet, and glossy, and dark, and he pressed them to the head of Bruce’s dick, slipped them over it in a messy kiss. Bruce wanted to slump back in the pillows, boneless, and just feel, but he made himself watch, strained up to see his cock disappearing into Jason’s fat mouth, hands scrabbling at his sheets, at Jason’s thick shoulders wedged between his thighs. The other part of himself, the Batman, was pushed just a little further back, and for a change, Bruce was happy to let him go.

Jason’s guns were in this room somewhere, along with all of Jason’s history, and all their mistakes, and the memory of a big eyed teenage boy who had dared to bounce up on his toes and kiss Bruce like he had every right in the world. Somewhere in this room was the ghost of Bruce, pressing his forehead to the wall and squeezing his eyes closed and hating himself for the things he wanted and the things he wouldn't let himself have.

Bruce let them go. His cock was nudging the back of Jason’s throat, and Jason was a man, big and powerful and built like Bruce, now, muscle heavy and built for work. Jason wasn’t that wide eyes teenager anymore, and god, he’d done this before.

God, someone had _taught_ him this.

Bruce let his clutching hand grip at Jason’s tangle of black hair, tugging just enough to make Jason’s lashes flick up at him, a little wet because Jason was gagging a little and fuck, Bruce was going to die here, suffocating in pleasure.

“Good at this,” he managed, voice nothing more than a rasp through his dry mouth.

That smirk, and Jason was _working_ for it, pumping his fist and running his thumb up the vein on the underside of Bruce’s cock, following his lips up as he pulled off with a wet smack that sounded loud and obscene in the still morning air.

“You lost your shot at little innocent Jay _quite_ a while ago,” he said with humour, and Bruce flushed, finally let his head drop back against the pillows. “I’ve been around the block, old man. Maybe not as much as you, but-”

“Didn’t I ever teach you about attending to the matter at hand?” Bruce cut in, embarrassed, if such a thing was still possible with Jason Todd naked between his legs, languidly stroking his spit slicked cock and grinning up at him. “Jesus Christ, Jay…”

Jason snorted, leaned forward and pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to the head of Bruce’s dick before sliding up - to the sounds of Bruce’s groans of dismay, then interest - to straddle Bruce’s thighs, arching over him, naked and glorious in the softly brightening light from the window.

“Goddamn, B, you know how much I wanna do to you? I’ve wanted to suck on your dick for years, since before I was dead, and now I’m here and I’ve done it and I just - “

“Hey.” Bruce reached up, caught Jason with a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like his own precome. He licked into it, into Jason’s mouth, slow and deep and sure, pulling away with a gentle suck to his bottom lip, a move that had Jason letting out a soft, broken moan. God, the noises he was tearing from this boy were going to haunt him for the rest of his godforsaken _life_.

“We’ve got time.”

He was lying, to both of them, but they were both used to _that_ , at least.

“B. _Bruce_.” Jason tilted his hips and rubbed his cock into the crease of Bruce’s thigh, already slicking up with sweat and precome. “Yeah? We got time?” Long, slow slide, muscles straining, tension in the arms Jason planted on either side of Bruce's head. Bruce couldn't stop himself from turning and kissing his biceps, realised he didn't _need_ to stop himself and did it, over and over, wet dragging kisses that ripped more of those low groans from Jason's mouth.

“As much time as we need,” Bruce lied, and wanted to believe it. He reached down to Jason's ass, gripped _tight_ and thought about bruises left there, blooming under his fingers for Jason to find later. Something that would last.

And for a while, that was all it was, Jason’s breath in his ear close and wet as they ground together, Bruce moving with him, pulling him in hard and feeling the powerful muscles in his ass and thighs moving, straining into it. And _god_ , Bruce wanted to come, but Jason was suddenly closer, even after the blowjob, working himself into something frantic and desperate as he rutted against Bruce's body. Anything that Bruce wanted, _needed_ , was subsumed under the desperate urge to give in to Jason’s desires. Nothing new, but not an instinct he’d let himself give into for a long, long while.

“Been wasting time,” Jason muttered, dropping his head as his hips worked, cock dripping wet now against the heat of Bruce’s skin. “Been wasting so much time B. Oh fuck you feel good, knew this would feel _so fucking good.”_

He sat up, suddenly, one rough hand planted on Bruce’s chest, arm shaking with effort. “Let me,” he started, and then bit his lip, rubbed a finger almost idly over Bruce’s nipple, pinched at it. “ _B_.”

Bruce reached up and gripped his jaw, stroked a thumb down over his chin.

“Anything you want, Jay,” he promised. “You can-“

“Let me come on you,” Jason interrupted, blurting it out, eyes dark and hot. “I want you to fuck me, I want you to blow me, I wanna take my fucking time with you, sure, but right now B, I just wanna _come_ , _please_.”

Had Jason ever let himself sound so vulnerable in Bruce’s presence? When was the last time he’d said please to anything? It wasn’t even a question. Bruce grabbed Jason’s hip in one hand, knocked his arm out of the way and took hold of his dick with the other.

“Take it,” he said roughly, slipping into the Batman growl without any real conscious effort. Jason was trembling. Bruce gripped his cock in a tight fist, pumped a couple of times and squeezed Jason’s hip and yeah, there’d be bruises, Jason would be wearing his bruises for _weeks_.

“Take it, come on, _take it_ , Jay, sweetheart, _come_.”

Jason grabbed at his wrist, short nails catching and tearing, drawing a hiss from Bruce that was lost as Jason fucked up into his grip, sweat dripping from his soaked hair and onto Bruce's body, hot as tears. “B, B, _Bruce…_ ”

Heat splashed over Bruce’s hand, dripped onto his stomach and chest like a dam breaking. Jason’s head dropped as his big body stilled, every muscle straining tight like he was being shot through with electricity. Bruce soothed him through it, rubbed his thumb up the underside of his cock, milking the last of it out, greedy for whatever he could get. His own erection was burning between his legs, urgent and impatient for the body above him, and he was shaking a little himself as he stroked Jason’s hip, his side, soothing but also urging him down.

“Got...time, old man,” Jason huffed, hiding a smile, and Bruce _growled_.

“Jason.”

“Mmm.” Jason sank down, smearing come between them as he sprawled himself over Bruce, everything wet and messy and good. “Don’t know what I like better. You saying my name in the Batman voice or you called me _sweetheart_.”

Bruce closed his eyes.

“Nah, don’t. Don’t hide from me.” Gentle lips on his cheek, on the delicate skin under his left eye. “Bruce, if this is it, if this is the only time -”

“Jay, no.” Bruce opened his eyes and grabbed at Jason’s face, drew him up to pepper him with kisses, smother the words he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to think about.

_The only time._

“I Just want you to give _in_ , B,” Jason whispered through Bruce’s touch, lips moving against Bruce’s fingers. “If this is it, I wanna see you lose it for me. I wanna see it at least once, I want you to give up and take what you want, take - take what you’ve needed from me for a long fucking time.”

And Bruce… Bruce had thought he’d broken when he grabbed Jason’s arm back in the cave, or maybe when he let himself sink into this bed and into what Jason was offering. But that was nothing to the way he shattered now, crumbling to pieces and letting Jason gather them up.

He rolled them over, a little charmed at the way Jason let himself be moved, heavy and sated and open. Bruce kisses his neck, the crook of his shoulder, making him laugh a little and stretch out to offer up more room. The room was brighter, now, dawn had come and gone somewhere on the other side of Bruce’s heavy drapes. Bright enough to see Jason’s face clearly, his sleepy eyes and bitten, smiling lips. So goddamn beautiful, that face, that smile. Bruce had been dreaming of it for years. Dreaming of this, and not having it and -

“Want you so bad, Bruce,” Jason whispered, and brushed gentle fingers over Bruce’s cheek. “Hey, stay with me. This is now.”

“This is now,” Bruce agreed, and pulled back the agonising few inches he needed to urge Jason over, onto his stomach, legs pressed together as Bruce fitted himself over him. Those thighs, smooth and thick and still so soft, muscles relaxed with orgasm now, plush as Bruce pressed his cock between them, barely wet enough with sweat but still so _sweet_.

“It's always about the thighs,” Jason sighed, and tilted his head to look over his shoulder. “Hey B, you don’t need to be sweet with me. You need that wetter back there, you know what to do.”

Bruce was getting plenty wet, he thought, cock spurting a little precome at those words, that tone. _Not so innocent. Not so sweet_.

“I’ve thought about  about this, a lot,” Bruce said, voice hoarse. He put both hands on Jason’s ass, squeezed. God it was so _fat_ , gave so easily under his hands as he lifted it, spread his cheeks a little, let go and let it jiggle back into place. “Thought about being nice to you. Giving you what you deserve.”

“What I deserve,” Jason scoffed. He had to be getting a sore neck, but he didn’t look away, holding Bruce’s gaze as Bruce played with his body. “Fuck what I _deserve_ , give me what I _want_.”

Bruce smiled, crooked and maybe a little mean, and then _spat_ , right into the tight grip of Jason’s thighs. He tore himself away from that dark gaze to watch, pulled his cock out and pushed it back in, wet and filthy, again, _again_ . God. Every dream of this, every fantasy, was tumbling through his head. Years of need and nothing had prepared him for the reality of Jason and Jason’s body and Jason’s letting him do _this_.

“Damn, B, knew you’d be fucking nasty in bed.” Jason was breathless, body moving with Bruce’s thrusts. “Jesus, you fuck all your Robins like this?”

Bruce growled. Everything Jason said was designed to get a rise out of him, spur him on. This wasn’t a surprise, but the words themselves still sent a frisson of shock through him.

“Knew you’d be… a mouthy little brat…” Bruce reached up, took a handful of Jason’s hair. It felt like wet silk, slipping between his fingers as he tugged. He was close. He’d lied, they had no time at all because Bruce was going to come and it was going to _kill him_.

“You love it,” Jason laughed. “Wouldn’t have me any other way.”

That was true, so Bruce didn’t reply. Just left Jason to laugh softly to himself and tilt his hips up, move with Bruce and squeeze him and moan, god, moan like Bruce was getting him there again, even though he’d just come. To be a kid again, Bruce thought, to have that vitality, to be young and alive and - fuck -

“Jason,” he sobbed, like it’d just hit him that Jason was here and with him, here and alive. He collapsed forward and pressed his forehead between Jason's shoulder blades, felt the strength in him, the life flooding through him. “Jason, _Jason_.”

“Call me sweetheart again,” Jason whispered, fond and easy. “Call me sweetheart and fucking come all over me, Bruce. You gonna do that for me?”

Of course he was.

The orgasm that ripped through him felt like it’d been building for years. An eternity of need and denial exploding and leaving him blank, wiped clean as he pressed his mouth to the back of Jason Todd’s neck and called him sweetheart and _came_ , just as he was told, just as he needed.

 

Silence.

Under Bruce’s heavy breathing, under the sound of birds outside, under the steady beating of Jason’s heart, the silence filled the room, and even now Bruce was bracing himself for - what? For something to go wrong. For him to say something wrong.

But maybe he didn’t need to say anything at all.

He slipped to the side, and Jason turned to face him. They were both filthy wet, covered in come and sweat and - Bruce coloured - spit. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Jason’s big eyes, the heat of Jason’s skin, and the lie that hung between them.

“You can,” Bruce paused, licked his lips. “You can shower, if you want.”

“Shut up, Bruce.” Jason smiled as he said it, though. “I used your toothbrush, by the way.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose, startled out of his discomfort. “What? That’s _disgusting_ , Jason. I’ve got a spare on in the drawer, you could have just…”

He trailed off. Jason looked _delighted_ , and Bruce realised he’d been baited. He rolled his eyes.

“You just _spat on my ass and used it to fuck my thighs_.” Jason was grinning. “Old man, you’ve got some interesting priorities.”

Bruce sighed. Reached through the space between their bodies and traced a finger along Jason’s collarbone. There were scars there that he didn’t know. Scars all over that body that he didn’t know, just as he didn’t know that muscle, didn’t know the way it all fit together.

He wanted, so badly, to learn.

“Sweetheart,” he said, and smirked as Jason went a brilliant, burning shade of red.

This, he thought. This right here, right now. This was good. This could be good.

“I’m going to sleep,” Jason announced. “I’m going to sleep, covered in all this, and I’m gonna fucking ruin these fancy sheets of yours. And then I’m gonna wake up and you can fuck me in your shower.”

“Oh.” Bruce trailed his finger up Jason’s neck, tapped his chin. “Really?”

Jason looked defiant. “Yeah. And then we can have the heart to heart you oh so desperately don’t want to have, and you can tell me all the reasons why we’ll never be able to do this again and maybe I’ll smash some expensive artwork. But until then, yeah. Sleeping. Fucking. Maybe some breakfast.”

The fight. Yeah, Bruce knew, there’d be a fight. With the two of them, there always was. He could feel it, banking up in the back of his mind like a stormcloud. This, this insanity, couldn’t be allowed to last.

Could it?

Bruce shook his head. The storm could wait. The fighting, the pain, all of it could wait. They didn’t have all the time in the world, but they could steal this morning. They could have that.

“Okay,” he said, and let himself enjoy the flash of surprise in Jason’s eyes. “Sleeping, fucking, maybe breakfast.”

“Hmm.” Jason looked suspicious, but he sat up to arrange the sheet over them, laying back down an inch closer, letting his pinkie brush Bruce’s stomach, his knee touch Bruce’s thigh. “Okay, then.”

Bruce smiled. A thought occurred to him, and he pushed through the little barriers Jason was building and drew him to his chest, sticky and gross as they both still were.

“Jason. What did you come to the cave for tonight, anyway?”

Jason stopped his wriggling, looking up at Bruce in surprise. His eyes, Bruce noticed, a flood of warmth filling his chest, were the same as they’d always been.

Six kisses, countless years, and the same pair of bright, beautiful blue eyes catching him in their gaze.

“B, I came to the cave for _you_ ,” Jason said. “I came for you.”

And all Bruce could do was bury his face in Jason hair and hold him as the warmth spread, eating away at the cold he always carried from the cave, eating away at the doubt, until he felt like he was laying in the sun and maybe for a morning, maybe for a minute, everything was going to be okay.


End file.
